Where Will I Run To?
by LikeAnN7
Summary: Mitch Grassi is an alcoholic with a dark past, and hates himself for the way he is using his roommate Scott. Scott is in love with Mitch, but he knows Mitch could never feel the same way, and it is destroying him. Its a very toxic relationship at first, but all's well that ends well, right? Scomiche, rated R for language.
1. Chapter 1

[Scott's PoV]

Scott was in love with Mitch, and it was killing him.

It was after three in the morning, and Mitch was curled against him, softly crying himself to sleep.

Scott had come home that night to find Mitch crying and throwing up a bottle of wine. Scott had cleaned him up, pressing a damp towel to the back of his neck as he heaved into the toilet. Mitch was crying over his latest boy toy, James or Jackson or something like that, and he crawled into Scott's bed a few hours later. He had kissed Scott, crying, asking Scott to hold him. Scott couldn't say no. He could never say no.

This wasn't the first time this had happened, nor was it the second, or third, or tenth. Every time Mitch broke up with a boyfriend, or partied too long, or drank too much, he would kiss Scott, or cuddle him, or tell him that he loved him. And the next morning he would forget, or pretend to, at least.

"Scott," Mitch mumbled sleepily, "You're the best, dunno what I'd do without you."

Scott stroked his hair, blinking back the tears creeping into the edge of his vision.

"I love you Scott, I really do," Mitch mumbled again.

Scott cleared his throat. "I love you too Mitchie," he said, looking down at the perfect boy lying in his arms. He sighed, seeing Mitch had already drifted off.

"I should write you a song," Scott continued, speaking to his unconscious friend. "I should write down how it feels when you lay in my arms and sing it to you."

Scott swallowed, but didn't let himself stop. "But it wouldn't do you justice. I could never put down in words what you are to me. I love you so much it hurts. You're everything to me, and I know that you never mean it when you tell me that you love me, but I do." He gulped, squeezing Mitch tighter. "And I know you won't remember this in the morning, and if you do, you won't care. You'll keep me wrapped around your finger as you hop from boy to boy, but I don't mind."

Scott laughed bitterly, "It's worth it. You're worth it. I'll let you rip my heart apart tomorrow morning like you have a hundred times, and I'll still be here for you. Because I love you Mitch."

Scott cried then, hating himself because he knew he could never hate Mitch. He slid out from Mitch's grasp, exiting the room quietly.

He began cleaning up the mess Mitch had made in their living room; reorganizing couch cushions, throwing away food, and picking up the coffee table that Mitch had knocked over. Scott found multiple partly-drunken bottles of wine, and he scooped one up, flopping onto the couch.

"Here's to you, Mitch," he chuckled, tipping the bottle to his lips, hoping to drown out his self-loathing, at least until morning.

[Mitch's PoV]

He awoke the next morning in Scott's bed, his head pounding. He frowned when he realized he was alone, as he usually preferred to wake up in his roommate's arms. Vaguely, he tried to piece together the events of last night.

His boyfriend of five weeks, Jeremy, had dumped him, and he had decided to drown his sorrows with a few bottles of wine. Mitch grimaced, he had told himself he needed to stop. Stop boy-hopping, stop drinking, stop partying, but last night the pain had been too much, he had needed a way to soften it.

He remembered drinking more than he had in a while, storming around their apartment, cursing Jeremy, cursing himself for being so weak, and cursing Scott for not being with him.

Scott. Scott was always there for him. He held him when he was hurting, helped pick him up when he was down.

And he'd done it again. Fallen into Scott's strong arms, kissed him, poured his pathetic little heart out to him.

'I don't deserve him,' Mitch thought, biting his lip angrily. 'I'm toxic. Just because I destroy myself doesn't mean I can drag Scott down with me. I have to stop.'

He knew it was useless. It was the same speech he always gave himself after these nights. After he used Scott to stop his loneliness, to stop all of the pain.

'One day he'll leave me forever,' he thought. 'He'll realize what a piece of shit I am and scrape me off of his shoe.'

Mitch stood slowly, grimacing at the pain shooting through his skull. He stumbled into the living room, surprised to see Scott asleep on the couch, an empty bottle beside his hand. Mitch inhaled sharply, noticing how exhausted Scott looked. He was so pale he looked gray, with large bags hanging underneath his eyes.

'Never again,' he promised. 'I'm not going to hurt you anymore.'

Mitch tip-toed past Scott into the kitchen, stumbling to find the bottle of aspirin. When he did, he dumped two into his hand and swallowed them with a cough. He opened their fridge, grabbing a water bottle and struggling to uncap it. The pain burning behind his eyes made the world around him hazy.

When he got the bottle open, Mitch gulped half of it down in one chug, coughing and sputtering.

"Mitch…" At the sound of his name, Mitch turned quickly, too quickly, to see Scott standing in the doorway.

He looked even worse awake, his eyes red and puffy as he leaned heavily on the doorframe.

"Scott!" Mitch jumped, surprised, "You should go back to sleep." He looked away, guilt hitting him like a fist driving into his stomach.

"Can't," Scott growled, closing the distance between them as he crossed the room.

Mitch backed away, bumping into the counter behind him. His heart pounded violently against his chest. "Scott, what're you-"

He froze when Scott stopped inches away from him, close enough that Mitch could smell the alcohol on his breath, feel the heat radiating off of his skin.

Scott was frightening him, hulking over Mitch in silence, staring down into his eyes with an emotion Mitch couldn't decipher.

They remained that way, frozen for a long moment, until Scott reached around Mitch, grabbing the bottle of pills from the counter. He retreated from Mitch, who let out a shaky breath as Scott stepped backwards.

Scott upturned the bottle, dumping a handful into his palm, and knocked them back.

"Headache," he muttered, staggering out of the kitchen.

Mitch's heart beat in his ears, and he found himself holding his breath as Scott shuffled away.

Mitch had never felt this guilty. Scott had never acted this… this strange. Mitch counted on Scott to be there for him, always smiling and full of life. But Mitch was stealing that from him. Draining away his very essence every time he kissed him, held him, dragged him into his bed.

Mitch clapped a hand to his mouth, catching a sob. He raced from the kitchen, tearing past a bewildered Scott into his bedroom, slamming the door behind him.

When he flipped the lock into place, Mitch let himself sink to the floor, sobbing into his drawn-up knees.

"Mitch?" he jumped at the sound of Scott's voice. "Mitch, what is it? What's wrong?"

The worry in Scott's voice only fed the flames of Mitch's guilt, and he couldn't manage a response.

"Mitch, please, are you hurt? Let me in, Mitch let me help…" Scott begged.

It was so tempting. To reach up and unlock the door, to let Scott in and collapse into his arms.

"No!" Mitch choked, "I'm fine, just," he gulped, "Just leave me alone."

He continued sobbing as he heard Scott's footsteps rush out of the apartment, his throat swollen shut as he tried to call after him.


	2. Chapter 2

[Scott's PoV]

He closed the door behind him and strode down the hall, digging his palms into his eyes. As he left the building, he glanced up at the window on the third floor where he knew Mitch was.

He set down the street at a fast pace, not caring where he was headed or where he'd end up. Mitch had never pushed him away before, and if he had stayed, Scott knew he would've torn down the door with his bare hands.

The image of Mitch curled up in his room, in pain and alone, clogged his mind.

'It's my fault,' Scott thought, 'I almost kissed him in the kitchen, and now he's…' Scott gulped, 'Christ, what've I done?'

He eventually slowed, glancing around him. Beside him was a large sign that read "Tattoos!"

'That can't be right,' he wondered, 'The tattoo parlor's at least four blocks from our apartment, I couldn't have walked this far already…'

Scott's head swam, and he stumbled into the liquor store across the street. The store owner gave him a suspicious look, but took the money Scott handed him quickly. Scott bought the strongest vodka they had and made his way towards the park.

There was a place there, by the pond, where he liked to sit and collect his thoughts, and he hurried there, only half aware of his surroundings. Numerous times cars honked at him as he wandered across the street, but he realized that he didn't care. Someone shouted something at him.

A man, maybe.

When Scott found himself beside the pond, he collapsed, uncorking the bottle and taking a swig.

The strength of the vodka choked him, causing him to sputter and hack for a long minute, and it burned a line of fire down his throat. He took another short drink, however, and the burn lessened.

He thought of Mitch. Of Mitch's dark, auburn-colored eyes, of his sharply sculpted lips, and how they felt against his. He grabbed a stone sitting near his thigh and flung it into the pond.

"You said you loved me!" He remarked aloud. "You kissed me, you asked me to stay with you, and you said," Scott hiccupped, "That you loved me!" He hadn't realized he was shouting. How long had he been standing?

"But you don't. Love isn't real," he laughed, tossing his head back. "That's it! Not real! The only thing that's real is-is, shit, where's my vodka?"

He plopped back down, raising the bottle to his lips again. "Vodka. That's real." He laughed again, but when he wiped his, he realized he was crying.

"Love is real though," he murmured after a moment, "Because I love you Mitch. I love you so much."

Then he blacked out.

[Mitch's PoV]

When he got the phone call, he gasped, promising to be there as soon as possible. He threw on a t-shirt and jeans and raced to the police station.

The officer who greeted him shook his hand with a grimace. "Are you Mitch?" he asked.

Mitch's eyes widened, "Um, yes I am. I'm sorry, but how do you know my name?"

"He keeps saying 'Mitch' over and over. When we found is phone, we called the home number, hoping that we could reach a relative. Are you two related?"

"No," Mitch managed, blushing when the cop rolled his eyes, "He's my roommate. He doesn't have any family in the city."

The cop nodded. "Roommates. Sure. Come with me."

When he saw Scott slumped on the ground behind the cell bars, his heart fell out from inside of him.

"Scott?" He cried, dropping to his knees. He gasped again when Scott's eyes blinked open slowly, his head swaying.

"M-Mitch?" He frowned, "What… Where…?"

"It's okay," Mitch fought back the tears spilling from his eyes. "You're okay, I'm here now okay? We're gonna go home."

"Um, sir?" The cop cleared his throat, obviously uncomfortable. "We'll need you to sign for his release, and then you two can leave."

Mitch stood, nodding as he wiped his eyes, trying to maintain his composure. "Where, um, where was he?"

The officer grimaced again. "We got a call from a young woman who was out running. He was raving around by the pond at Rosewood park, and she saw him collapse." The officer cleared his throat, "He was found with half a bottle of vodka. Strong stuff too."

Mitch's hands flew to his mouth, and he turned back to look at Scott.

"He should be alright," The officer awkwardly clasped Mitch's slim shoulder. "He had some alcohol poisoning, but he threw up a few times, and our doctors took a look at him."

"Thank you," Mitch managed, signing the paper the officer handed him, "for taking care of him."

Another cop helped get Scott into the back of Mitch's car, where he passed out again.

Mitch cursed him all the way home.

"What the FUCK Scott? What were you thinking?" He yelled, letting the tears stream down his face, his hands digging into the steering wheel. "You could've DIED for Christ's sake! What-" his voice broke. "What would I do without you? How could I, I-" He dissolved into tears, parking sloppily outside of their apartment building.

He buried his face in his hands, his whole body shaking with the force of his sobs.

"Mitch?" Scott's voice came from the backseat. "What's going on? Why are you-"

Mitch whirled around to look at Scott, who was rubbing his eyes, blinking with difficulty.

"I just picked you up from the fucking police station Scott!" Mitch yelled. "They said you passed out after drinking half a bottle of vodka! You almost drank yourself to death, and I had to pick you up f-from-" Mitch's voice cracked, and he began to cry again.

"I'm sorry," he heard Scott saying. "Mitchie, I'm so sorry, please, please don't cry."

Mitch pulled his face from his hands, meeting Scott's own tear-streaked face. He let Scott cup his cheek and wipe away his tears gently, giving into the sensation of his fingertips.

He jolted, climbing from the car abruptly, motioning for Scott to do the same. "C'mon," he managed, "We've gotta get you inside."

Scott had to lean on him heavily as they staggered into the building and rode the elevator to the third floor. All the while, Scott kept blubbering about being sorry and begging Mitch to forgive him.

As Mitch helped him sit on their couch, Scott seized his arm.

"Please Mitch, don't hate me. I didn't- I never meant-" he trailed off, his blue puppy-dog eyes staring up at Mitch pleadingly.

Mitch knelt in front of him slowly. "I don't hate you Scott," he replied. "You scared me, is all. I thought," he swallowed, "You could've killed yourself, Jesus Scott, what were you thinking?"

Scott reached out, stroking his cheek slowly, his fingers raising goosebumps along Mitch's skin.

"I was thinking about you, Mitch," he said simply. "I'm always thinking about you.

Mitch's eyes widened as he stared into Scott's impossibly blue eyes, his face drifting towards Scott's slowly.

He caught himself, leaping up quickly. "Scott-" he paused, looking down at the beautiful, half-conscious boy that he was destroying, guilt rising like bile to the back of his throat. "You need to get some rest. I'll make you some soup, okay?"

Scott nodded, sliding down onto his side, his eyes fluttering closed. "I love you, Mitch," he mumbled.

Mitch's heart shattered at those words, and he rushed into the kitchen, refusing to let himself give into Scott again.

He found a can of chicken noodle soup and opened it, dumping the contents into a bowl and putting it into the microwave. When it was fully heated, he grabbed a spoon, carrying the bowl out to where Scott was sleeping soundly on the couch.

"Scott?" Mitch shook his shoulder lightly. "I'm sorry to wake you, but you need to eat. Here," Mitch helped Scott sit up, holding the bowl out to him.

He gave Scott the spoon, and he managed to feed himself with some help from Mitch. Mitch held the bowl close to Scott's lips, one hand wrapped around the back of his neck.

Scott ate about half of the bowl before pushing it away. Mitch stood hesitantly, taking the bowl and spoon into the kitchen as Scott lay back down. Mitch set about washing the mountain of dishes in their sink, when he heard Scott rush into the bathroom.

Mitch dropped the plate he was scrubbing and ran after him, to find Scott vomiting into the bathtub. He covered his nose, fighting back his gag reflex as he knelt beside Scott.

Mitch grabbed a washcloth, soaking it with cold water and pressing it to the back of Scott's neck as he had done for him the night before.

Scott's breath sawed in and out, and he coughed violently between hurls.

When he finished, Mitch turned on the bath to wash it out, dabbing Scott's mouth gently, avoiding Scott's stare. He finished cleaning Scott off, turning off the bathtub and helping him back to the couch, grabbing him a bucket.

"Here, I'm gonna grab you a new shirt, okay?" Mitch stood slowly, heading into Scott's room.

He dug through Scott's closet until he found an old t-shirt Scott often wore as pajamas. He brought it out to Scott, relieved to see he hadn't needed to use the bucket.

"I found this," Mitch said stupidly, kneeling in front of Scott again. "Do you need help-"

"I got it." Scott muttered, taking the shirt from him. Mitch sat back on his heels as Scott yanked his shirt over his head, replacing it with the one Mitch had brought. "Thank you," he murmured when Mitch stood.

"You're welcome Scott," he tried to keep his voice steady. He threw Scott's shirt into the wash, then went to finish the dishes.

Mitch felt as if someone had drilled a hole into his chest. HE remembered when he had first met Scott, the day he moved into the apartment. Scott had been so animated, naïve even, and now look what had happened.

'Because of me.' Mitch let himself wallow in self-hatred, remembering his first roommate, all those years ago. After his father had kicked him out of his house, he decided to share a flat in L.A. That was when he met Caine. Caine had introduced him to the party life he knew know, loving to dance and drink the night away. He had been so funny and popular, and Mitch had fallen for him hard. It had been amazing, until that night… When Mitch had ruined everything.

He gulped, forcing the memory from his mind. That was a long time ago. His father, Caine, they were all in the past.

Now he had Scott. 'I ruined that too.' Mitch thought, biting his lip. He ran his fingers over the thin, faded scars along his forearm.

'No.' he thought firmly, shaking his head.

'That's in the past too.'


	3. Chapter 3

[Scott's PoV]

He slept in very late the next day, and when he finally dragged himself from bed, his head throbbed with every step. Scott had managed to get to his bed last night with Mitch's help, and had slept deeper than he had in a long time.

Scott shuffled into the kitchen, where he found a note stuck on the fridge.

"Went out to run some errands, won't be too long. –Mitch"

Scott grabbed the note, crumpling it in his fist. Of course Mitch was long gone by the time he awoke, distancing himself from Scott as he usually would after they had one of their nights, but it had never been like this. Scott had never been the one who needed taking care of. He was supposed to watch out for Mitch, and he had failed him.

Scott ripped the piece of paper in half, dropping it into the garbage can. He grabbed a water bottle out of the fridge and downed an unknown quantity of aspirin before staggering back to his room.

He sank onto his bed, sighing in relief as his headache ebbed slightly. Scott closed his eyes, but couldn't fall back asleep. He stared at the ceiling, wondering how long Mitch would be gone. In the past, Mitch would spend a day or two out partying or something to get out of the house, until the awkwardness between them lessened.

The first time Mitch had kissed him, he had hardly talked to Scott for a week afterwards, and Scott bit his lip at the memory, hoping that wouldn't happen again. It had nearly killed him, waiting up for Mitch night after night, clutching his phone to his chest, unable to sleep. He had lied awake for hours, praying that he wouldn't get a phone call telling him something he couldn't bear to hear.

Scott took a gulp of water, massaging his temples slowly. He stayed in his bed for an hour, but sleep never came; his mind was wide awake with thoughts of Mitch. They had lived together for months now, and Scott felt like he knew Mitch so well. He knew the way his eyes shone when Scott made him laugh, how the corner of his mouth would tug upwards when he was trying not to smile, how he drew into himself when he didn't want to talk about his past.

His past. For how well Scott felt he knew Mitch, it frustrated him how little he knew about Mitch's life before they moved in together. All Mitch had told him was that he had moved out of his father's house as soon as he graduated high school, and had had a dozen different roommates since then.

'Did you do this to all of them?' Scott wondered. 'Play with their emotions until they couldn't live with themselves, then leave?' His heart skipped a beat as he thought, 'Are you going to leave me?'

Scott gave up on sleeping, dragging himself out of his bed to the piano in their living room. Playing often helped distract him, so he sat on the bench and let his fingers drift over the keys. He mixed around what he played, jumping haphazardly between melodies.

Scott thought of how he had considered writing Mitch a song, his fingers hanging over the keys precariously. Closing his eyes, he set about constructing a rhythm, settling on a minor key. It began slow and simple, just a few different notes strung together.

When he heard a melody he liked, his eyes flew open, and he hurriedly grabbed a piece of paper and a pen to jot the notes down.

The hours passed lazily as he wrote, building chords from his original notes, causing his sparse rhythm to grow into a song. He had filled many pages, some crumpled and tossed aside, when he heard the door open.

Scott jumped up, clutching his head as a flash of pain shot through it.

"Sorry," he heard Mitch say, "I didn't mean to scare you."

Scott glanced up to see Mitch setting bags of groceries on the kitchen counter. He walked towards Scott slowly, as if he was afraid of spooking him again.

His heart ached, Mitch was scared of him. He trusted Scott to take care of him, and now he was afraid to be too close to him.

"What're you playing?" Mitch asked, peering past Scott at the piano.

"Oh, um, nothing really," Scott stammered. "I was just messing around; it's not a real song."

Mitch's eyes widened, "You mean, you're writing something?" he asked.

Scott shrugged, "Well, kind of, yeah."

Mitch's lips parted into a smile that warmed Scott from the inside. "Can I hear it?" he asked, stepping closer.

Scott rubbed the back of his neck, his face flushing. "Sure, if you want. But it's really not done yet," he added, "There aren't lyrics or anything…"

Mitch raised a hand to stop him. "Scott, I'm sure it's fine," he smiled again, "Can I please hear it?"

Scott nodded, still blushing, and turned around, sliding onto the piano bench ungracefully. He cleared his throat, flexing his fingers nervously. He glanced over his shoulder at Mitch, who nodded encouragingly.

Slowly letting out a breath, Scott placed his fingers over the keys and began to play.

The song was nothing special, but the long chords resonated nicely, and Scott was fairly proud of how it was coming along. As he reached the end of what he had written, he stopped suddenly, rubbing his neck again.

"So yeah," Scott gathered up the pages, not letting himself look at Mitch, "It's not great, but it's, you know, it's something."

"It's good!" Mitch said, chuckling when Scott turned to stare at him with a bewildered expression. "Really, I think it's really cool."

"Thanks."

An awkward silence hung between them for a heartbeat, until Mitch cleared his throat.

"Well," he said, "I'm gonna go shower. A new bar opened on Main Street so I thought I'd go check it out."

Scott nodded slowly, "Yeah, that's cool."

He watched as Mitch crossed the room to his bedroom, where he closed the door behind him softly. Mitch was going out again. And Scott would be left home to miss him, wallowing in self-pity. He let out a short, hard laugh.

"Pathetic," he hissed, heading into his own room and closing the door so he wouldn't watch Mitch leave.

[Mitch's PoV]

He adjusted his shirt, and then ran his fingers through his hair, smoothing it into place. Mitch sighed gazing at his reflection as a pit of guilt opened in his stomach.

"What am I doing?" He muttered, grabbing his phone as he stepped out of the room. Mitch lingered in front of Scott's door, nervously shifting his weight from foot to foot. He reached out to knock, then snatched his hand away. Mitch hurried away from Scott's door. He stopped, glancing back longingly.

'No.' He told himself, 'No, no, no.'

Mitch nearly dropped his phone when it buzzed in his hand, his heart pounding. He took a deep breath, embarrassed.

"U readyy?" The text from one of his clubbing 'friends' read.

"Sure b right out" he responded, not looking back as he marched out of the apartment.

Mitch closed the door behind him, leaning back against it with a sigh. He found a part of him hoping that Scott would come rushing out and beg him to stay.

But he didn't. So Mitch rode the elevator down to where his ride waited in front of their building.

A few hours and many drinks later, Mitch shuffled along the city streets, his hands buried in his pockets. He had left the bar early, telling the others that he'd walk home to clear his head.

That had been over an hour ago.

Mitch paced the streets, deep in thought. Every time he drew close to the apartment building he found himself turning away in disgust. His thoughts quickly turned as dark as his mood. He passed a house that brought back memories of his childhood home, the rum-soaked shack he had grown up in.

He remembered his father, the abusive drunk who'd thrown Mitch out after he learned about Mitch's first boyfriend, and he scowled. How many times, he wondered, did he have to hide the marks his father made on his skin? How many nights would he fear coming home?

"You were right about me, daddy-o," Mitch remarked to the empty air. "I certainly am a disgrace, aren't I? I let you down, I let Caine down, and now I'm letting Scott down too." He sniffed,, drawing a shaky breath as he sat on the curb.

Mitch dug his phone out of his pocket, peering up at the street sign beside him. He wiped his eyes, punching in Scott's number blindly.

"Scott," he gasped as soon as he heard him pick up.

"Mitch?" Scott's voice filled with worry, "What is it? What's going on?"

"I'm on the corner of third and Roosevelt, I'm fine, I-" Mitch's voice broke off and he covered his mouth to stifle his sob.

Scott's voice came again, and Mitch already felt calmer. "I'm coming. I'm on my way, Mitch, okay? Are you hurt?" He asked.

"No," Mitch gasped, "I'm fine, just, I just wanna come home."

"Okay. Okay hold on."

The car had barely stopped before Scott was jumping out and rushing over to Mitch.

Mitch stood, wiping his eyes. "Scott, I'm sorry, I was going to walk home, I didn't mean to worry-"

His sentence was cut off as Scott yanked him into a hug.

"Stop," he breathed as Mitch was pressed into his chest, listening to the sound of Scott's heartbeat. "Stop talking." And Mitch did.

After a moment, they separated, and Scott asked him three more times if he was alright before climbing back into the car.

Neither of them spoke until Scott pulled into the parking lot.

"Mitch," his voice was strained, "I was so worried, I thought-"

"I'm fine, really," Mitch interrupted, not meeting Scott's gaze. "I was just being stupid. I'm sorry, I didn't mean to freak you out."

Scott nodded, stepping out of the car. He held the building door open for Mitch as they walked in.

"Thanks," Mitch said quietly as he slipped past Scott.

"Mitch," Scott said finally as they stepped into the elevator, "Why do you go out all the time?"

Mitch drew a breath, trying to sound casual. "I dunno, I don't like sitting around. Clubbing's fun, and doing nothing isn't, I guess."

Scott turned and looked at him sadly. "Mitch-" he began, but stopped himself, jerking his eyes away.

"What is it?" Mitch asked, reaching for Scott's arm.

"Nothing, never mind." Scott pulled away from Mitch as the elevator doors opened. He unlocked their apartment, and this time he didn't hold the door.

Mitch followed him inside, quietly closing the door behind him. He watched as Scott went into the kitchen, coming back out with a beer in each hand.

"Want one?" He asked, holding one out to Mitch.

Mitch shook his head, his eyes wide. "No thanks."

Scott smirked, "More for me then."

He flopped onto their couch, cracking one open. Mitch stepped past him, hurrying towards his room. He couldn't watch Scott acting like this, it hurt him in a way he couldn't describe.

Mitch changed into sweats and a t-shirt and fell onto his bed. He surprised himself by crying, and he pressed his face into a pillow to muffle the sound.

Many hours passed before he slept, but when he did, he dreamed of Scott.

Scott was pulling him into his arms, speaking softly. His whispers flowed down Mitch's skin as he told Mitch he loved him again and again, but when Scott leaned down to kiss him, he changed. His beautiful blue eyes turned dark, his blond hair growing into brown curls that fell to his cheekbones.

"Caine," Mitch gasped before the man forced his mouth against his own, his lips too hard to be Scott's, his breath tasting of a hundred different chemicals. Mitch tried to fight against his advances, he knew how this ended, but his body wouldn't obey his mind's command.

Instead of pulling away, Mitch felt himself leaning into Caine, deepening the kiss.

Mitch dreamed of Caine carrying him into his bedroom as he had that night all those years ago, his clothes falling away.

He willed his body to do something, to stop now before it was too late, before he woke the next morning to Caine throwing him out, calling him a slut and a whore. Before he told Mitch that he 'took advantage' of Caine because he was drunk and high and hadn't really wanted it.

Mitch jerked awake with a gasp, his heart pounding. He sat still for a minute, taking deep breaths to slow his heartbeat.

Caine.

He'd thought his wildest dreams were coming true the night his secret crush had taken his virginity. How ironic that now it was a nightmare.

Mitch froze when he heard piano music drifting from outside of his room. He crawled out of bed slowly, not daring to open his bedroom door. He recognized the tune after a moment; it was the song Scott was writing. He glanced at his clock, 1:43 am.

'Why the hell is Scott playing the piano in the middle of the night?' Mitch wondered.

"It's three in the morning, and I wanna write you a song," Scott's voice joined the sound of the piano, rising and falling with the swell of the music. Mitch heard him stop and start over again.

"…Write you a song." Scott's voice murmured, and Mitch heard him shuffling papers.

"With all of your rights," His voice came again, louder this time. "And all of my wrongs."

Mitch sank to his knees, leaning forward so that his forehead rested against the door. He realized how amazing Scott's voice was, and he couldn't tear himself away because he knew if he moved now, he would end up running to him.

"It's ten in the morning and you're calling me 'friend', even though you spent the night in my bed." Scott's voice was thick with emotion, and Mitch's eyes flew open as he processed those words.

'His song,' Mitch wondered, 'What is he singing about? It can't be…' Mitch bit his lip, straining to hear more clearly.

He jumped when he heard Scott strike the keys loudly, followed by the sound of him pacing across the living room. Mitch heard the footsteps draw closer, then Scott's door opened and closed. After a few minutes, Mitch stood and climbed back into his bed. He closed his eyes, biting his lip again.

'Please Scott,' he hoped, 'don't let your song, your really nice song, be about me.'

[Scott's PoV]

He sat on his bed with a sigh, running his hands through his hair in frustration. No matter how hard he tried, the song just wasn't working. There was no way he could sum up how he felt about Mitch without making the song an hour long.

Scott was sick to death of his own self-loathing, sick of pining away after Mitch day after day. He perked up suddenly, remembering what he'd bought during that terrible week after their first kiss. He got up, digging through his nightstand until he found the boxes.

Three packs of cigarettes. He'd bought them hoping that smoking might finally relieve some of his pain, but had chickened out of using them.

Scott found a lighter and stepped out onto their balcony. He opened a pack, drawing out a cigarette with shaky fingers. He held it to his lips, struggling to light it as his fingers slipped off of the lighter. Scott closed his eyes, willing himself to relax, and clicked the lighter. When the small flame burst forth, he held it to the end of the cigarette.

As it caught fire, Scott closed his eyes again and sucked in a breath. He began coughing as the smoke choked him, his breath wheezing in and out for a few moments. Scott cleared his throat and tried again, inhaling slowly.

The smoke made his eyes water and scorched his throat, but he felt a lightness come to his head that wasn't unpleasant. He let his breath out, watching the smoke curl away into the night air.

The wind outside was cold, but the cigarettes lit a fire in his chest that warmed him. His fingers were still shaking, but the tingling sensation lingering beneath his skin helped soothe his racing heart. Scott leaned against the railing, staring out at the lights of the city.

A car flew by on the abandoned streets, and he heard distant laughter. He glanced down at the pavement below him that shone in the moonlight. Scott was fascinated by how far the ground looked, and he let himself lean further over the railing.

A burst of wind from behind him caused him to jerk, tightening his fingers around the metal rail. He straightened, his heart pounding, and took another drag from his cigarette.

'What if I fell?' Scott wondered, 'What if I just leaned forward, just a little further, and lost my grip? Would you cry for me, Mitch?' His eyes watered, and he inhaled again quickly.

'It'd stop all this pain, wouldn't it? Would you even care?'

Scott's hand shook as he gripped the railing, his tears beginning to spill faster.

His racing thoughts were cut off when he heard Mitch begin to scream.


	4. Chapter 4

*****Hey everyone! Sorry this chapter took so long to upload, I've been really busy recently, and this one's quite a doozy. A HUGE thank you to everyone reading and writing reviews and supporting my writing! Hopefully you enjoy!****

[Scott's PoV]

He ripped open the door to Mitch's bedroom, his mind simultaneously racing with worst-case scenarios, and completely unable to form a coherent thought. When his eyes fell on Mitch, Scott felt all of the breath leave his lungs in a rush.

Mitch sat on the bed with the covers flung aside and his knees drawn up. His hands were pressed over his ears and he rocked back and forth slightly.

He screamed again, his eyes pinching closed tightly, and Scott jerked into motion. In a heartbeat he had rushed to Mitch's side, dropping onto the bed. He felt numb with shock, unable to feel anything except the pit where his stomach should be.

"Mitch? Mitch it's me, what's going on?" Words tumbled from his mouth as his hands fluttered about Mitch uselessly. "Mitch, please, can you hear me?" Scott tried again, and he lightly grabbed Mitch's wrists, trying to ease them off of his ears

"Mitch, it's me, it's Scott. I'm here." Scott was panicking. Mitch's screams had stopped, but he shook violently, continuing to gasp and cry. Scott's thoughts were blown to hell, and he knew that Mitch needed help, but he had never felt so helpless. Finally he reached out, encircling Mitch's fragile body with his arms.

Mitch jerked, struggling for a terrible moment against Scott's grip.

"Please Mitch," Scott tightened his arms, tears now spilling from his eyes as he began to pray to every god he knew, begging them to bring Mitch back to him. "It's me Mitch, I'm here. Please, please, be alright. It's all gonna be alright, just, please Mitch, please answer me."

Scott clutched Mitch to his chest, feeling him trembling in his embrace. He had no idea what was happening, but he knew something was seriously wrong. Mitch seemed petrified with fear, and was acting if Scott wasn't even there.

"Mitch," Scott's voice cracked, "I don't know what to do, and I feel so useless. Tell me how to help you Mitchie." He sucked in a breath, but felt Mitch's shaking beginning to calm. "Mitch?" He bent down, trying to see his face.

"That's it," he decided, "I need to, to call someone. You might need a doctor, or-" Scott began to stand, pulling himself away from Mitch, but was stopped short when something caught his arm.

"No!" Mitch cried suddenly, his fingers wrapped tightly around Scott's forearm. He finally looked at Scott, staring up at him with wide, glassy eyes. "Don't go," he said, his voice a barely audible rasp.

The rush of relief Scott felt swell inside of him made him begin to cry anew. He hesitated for a moment, still wanting to run for the phone, but a final glance down at Mitch changed his mind. He looked so scared, so broken, and Scott knew he couldn't leave him. He sank back down beside Mitch, gasping softly when he fell into his arms. Mitch buried his face against Scott's chest, still trembling slightly.

"Mitch?" Scott tried again, "Are you alright?" But Mitch didn't respond, he only let out a quiet sob and pressed harder against Scott.

"It's okay, I got you." Scott's hands travelled over Mitch's body, smoothing his hair, stroking his arms, trailing his fingertips down Mitch's spine. "I'm not leaving you, okay? You're gonna be alright."

For what felt like centuries, Scott held Mitch, gently rocking and soothing him until Mitch slid into a fervent sleep. Scott stayed with him, his heart and mind still reeling from the shock of it all, until, exhausted and warmed by the heat of Mitch's body, Scott let himself drift off.

[Mitch's PoV]

When Mitch woke the next day in Scott's arms, he finally realized how much he loved him.

He had relied on Scott, missed him, cared for him, needed him, and wanted him for so long, but he never expected to fall in love with him. He didn't think he was capable of really loving anyone, and he had promised himself that he wasn't going to fall for Scott. Now, however, as he lay wrapped in Scott's warmth, listening to the drum of his heartbeat and feeling Scott's chest expand and contract against him with each breath, he knew. He knew that he could stay like this for the rest of his life.

"Mitch?" Scott stirred suddenly, starting to sit up. "Mitch, are you awake?"

"Yeah," he admitted, wishing they could just fall back asleep and ignore the world for a little while longer.

Scott pulled himself up enough to look down into Mitch's face, leaning over him as relief flooded his bright blue eyes. He reached out, stroking Mitch's face hesitantly. Mitch closed his eyes, wanting to memorize the feeling of Scott's fingertips caressing his cheek.

"Mitch," Scott breathed, and Mitch arched into his touch as he leaned closer, their lips ghosting only inches apart. Mitch's eyes flew open when Scott pulled away, disentangling himself from Mitch as he sat up on the edge of the bed.

"Mitch," he said again, clearing his throat, "I was so worried, I… Listen, what happened last night?"

What happened indeed? Mitch sighed at the loss of contact, sitting up and rubbing his temples groggily. He focused on recollecting the events of last night. Mitch jumped when images of his father and Caine filled his head, their distorted, nightmarish shapes fresh in his mind. He could almost see his old home, feel his father's bruising hands and Caine's demanding lips, hear all of his old roommates telling him that they couldn't take it anymore. He remembered being unable to breathe, not being able to escape the nightmare when he awoke.

"It was a, uh, a kind of panic attack," he managed finally. "I used to h-have them in high school." Mitch let his eyes wander to Scott, who now faced away from him, running a hand through his pale blond hair.

"I'm so sorry," Mitch went on, "I keep freaking you out. I haven't had an attack like this in… in a long time. I'm sorry that I scared you." Mitch wrung his hands anxiously, growing panicked by Scott's silence. "Scott," his voice wavered and he drew a breath, trying to remain composed. "What is it? Please, I'm sorry I worried you." Tears began to well up in his eyes, but he couldn't' stop talking. He had to fill the terrible silence, unable to bear its crushing weight. "Scott I know I'm a fucking mess and I keep causing you so much fucking trouble but please, please talk to me."

Scott did, still not looking at Mitch as he muttered, "I didn't know you had panic attacks." He turned, dark circles stamped under his soft, ocean-colored eyes. "I told myself," he continued, "that I was going to get over you. That I was not going to keep pining after you and keep my distance." Scott covered his face with his hands, shaking his head slowly.

"But last night," he looked up, one hand drifting up to cup Mitch's face ever-so-softly, "I considered jumping off the fucking balcony, but I couldn't do it. Then I heard you scream, and my heart stopped. I started to think of anything and everything that could've happened to you, and I was so scared, Mitch."

Mitch realized he was holding his breath, and let it out slowly, terrified that if he spoke now, he would somehow ruin this fragile little moment.

"And when I found you last night," Scott stared into Mitch's eyes as if he was seeing through Mitch, gazing past his skin and into his soul, 'Not knowing what to do, or what was happening, I knew that I could never get over you. You mean so, so much to me, and even if I don't want to feel that way, I can't change it."

Scott's hand trembled against his skin, and slowly, still afraid of scaring him off, Mitch reached out, wrapping his arms around Scott gently. He pulled Scott against him, one arm encircling his neck while the other clutched the back of Scott's head. Scott relaxed, hugging him back tightly, his face buried in Mitch's neck. Mitch bit his lip, squeezing his eyes shut when he felt Scott's shoulders shaking.

Scott pulled back after a while, placing his large hands firmly on Mitch's shoulders as he cleared his throat.

"Mitch," he said, wiping his eyes with the back of his hand, "I'm sick of this. I want to know more about you, and I know you don't want to talk about your past, but please, I want to know."

Mitch looked up into his pleading gaze, then down to where his hands were folded in his lap.

"Mitch," Scott squeezed his shoulders as he shook his head helplessly, "I am in love with you." Mitch's eyes widened, but Scott continued before he could speak. "Completely, hopelessly in love with you. And when I promised you that I'd never leave you, I meant it. I love you so much its killing me. I love you, and that's why I don't mind that you treat me the way you do, but damn it Mitch, I hate not knowing anything about you. I want to help you, and I won't know how unless you trust me."

"Scott," Mitch continued to stare at his hands, not letting himself look at him, "Don't say that, you shouldn't… You shouldn't love someone like me." His heart ached, Scott was so sweet, so fragile, he didn't deserve to be stuck with such a train wreck. He had always assumed that Scott would leave him like everyone else he had let himself care about, but now he saw that Scott was different. He was so kind, and so unbelievably caring. Scott would put everyone else before himself, even someone who had hurt him, someone like Mitch.

"Maybe I shouldn't," Scott's hands slid down Mitch's arms tortuously slow until they found his hands, "But I do. I know that you've gone through some terrible shit, but keeping it to yourself will only make things worse. Listen Mitch," he took a deep breath, "I've done everything you've ever wanted, and I'll keep doing it for as long as you'll let me, but we can't go on like this, with you only needing me when you're too drunk to walk and ignoring me in the morning." His voice cracked, "And I know that I'm not good enough for you, and th-that you must think s-so little of me-"

"No!" Mitch cut him off, unable to bear the pain in his eyes. "Scott, you mean the world to me," he cradled Scott's face in his delicate hands, "I don't 'toss you aside' after I've, well, you know, it's just that once I sober up I hate myself for what I'm doing to you, and I try to distance myself because I don't deserve you. Scott i-" Mitch struggled to breathe evenly, stopping himself before he said something he wouldn't be able to take back.

"You say you love me," he continued, "But you wouldn't if you knew… what you want to know. My past…" he trailed off, "Scott, I'm a mess, a total piece of shit. Trust me, you don't really want to know."

Scott reached up, holding Mitch's hands to his face shyly. "Do you really care about me?"

"Of course I do, Scott," Mitch breathed, "You're kind, and funny and an amazing singer, and you deserve someone perfect, not a broken, useless alcoholic." He pulled his hands away, rubbing his eyes with a sigh. "Go find someone who deserves you Scott. Someone sweet and kind who makes you laugh. Find them and love them and forget all the shit I've dragged you through." Mitch stood, wanting to get himself out of the room as fast as possible. He had been running for years, and the demons at his heels were growing far too close, their razor sharp claws reaching out to him in the pale hours of the morning, waiting to catch him off guard, to remind him of all the things he was running from.

"No!" Scott leaped up, darting around Mitch's bed to block his way. "We're not doing this anymore!" he yelled. "We're not getting _so close_ to being honest with each other and then running away. I'm not letting you run from me anymore Mitch."

Mitch's eyes widened at Scott's outburst, but he let him lead him back to his bead. They sat, Scott's sweatpants brushing against Mitch's mostly-bare leg.

Mitch stared into Scott's pleading gaze for a long time before he sighed in defeat. "You wanna know my story Scott?" He asked with a sharp laugh. "Well, alright."


	5. Chapter 5

*****Hey everyone, here is the FINAL chapter for Where Will I Run To, this was originally only going to be four chapters, but I had to break up the last one because it was getting wayyyy too long, please enjoy! I really wanted to stick to a schedule uploading these chapters, but everything's been do hectic and I wanted to finish this. Reviews and requests welcome!******

I'll Run to You

[Mitch's PoV]

"I was born in a small town in the south of California," he began, " My mother ditched my deadbeat dad a few years after I was born, so I don't remember her. My childhood sucked," Mitch paused, trying to force a laugh, "My father drank too much too often, and loved to rage about this and that; his work, politics, sports- you name it. Somehow, however, the topic always found its way back to me. He'd holler about my mother, calling her a hundred different variations of the word 'slut', and said it was my fault she left."

Mitch took a breath and continued, "I don't remember exactly how old I was when he started hitting me. There was one time, when he was particularly drunk, when I was 9 or 10. He split my lip, and he felt guilty enough to leave me alone for about a week."

Scott's eyebrows climbed up his forehead, "Your dad hit you?" he asked, breathless.

"Yeah," Mitch shrugged, "it wasn't as bad as the stuff you see in the movies, he'd just smack me around a bit, or throw whatever was closest to him at the time. Anyways, the hitting had mostly stopped by high school, probably out of fear more than anything."

"In high school," he felt heat rising to his face, "I, I suffered from anxiety and depression, and," he made himself say it, "And I cut myself a few times. Around sophomore year I came to terms with my sexuality, but it was a long time before I told anyone. I remember senior year was so fun; I finally made a few close friends, got a job, and had my first boyfriend." Mitch smiled sadly, mentally forcing his voice to remain steady. Scott squeezed his hands, reminding him that he was there.

"Brandon," Mitch sighed, "He was in my English class, and he was a total nerd. He wanted to be an artist, and used to doodle little sketches in my notebook," That brought another smile to his face. "We kept it super-secret for a while, not even telling our friends for months. We eventually went out a few times- at that point my father hardly noticed when I came and went- and it was the best time of my life. I felt free from my father, I had someone who cared about me, and I was saving up some money, life was good."

"However," Mitch inhaled sharply, "a few weeks before graduation, I made the mistake of letting Brandon start walking me home. It was only a few times when I guessed my father was either asleep or at the bar, but one night he saw us. As soon as I walked through the door he," Mitch gulped, "He threw me into the wall and started screaming. He called me every slur under the sun, and started smacking at me. At one point I tried to get away, and he threw a beer bottle at me. I shielded my face with my hands, causing the shards to cut and bruise my forearms and hands, and what I didn't block scratched my face. He told me to get out, that I was an adult now, and he wouldn't have a faggot living under his roof. He stormed off and I ran to my room. I didn't care whether he really meant it, but I packed all of my things and left."

Scott gasped quietly. "Mitchie…" He searched for words, "That's- that's absolutely awful. I'm so sorry."

"It's alright," Mitch muttered. He took another breath and continued, "I got a hotel that first night, and after that I stayed with Brandon until graduation. I'm so thankful that his parent's let me stay, but I couldn't find the urge to tell him what had happened, only that my father threw me out."

Mitch paused for a minute, blinking back tears while Scott remained silent, listening to Mitch's story intently.

"I wanted to stay, but I knew Brandon was going to art school at the end of the summer, and I knew I was being a burden to his family, so I signed up for a flat share in the city. Brandon was heartbroken, but after living with them for about a month, I moved out. I tried to explain to him that our lives were moving in different directions, but I don't think he really understood. I was so terrified when I first arrived in Los Angeles, all alone with nothing but the money I'd saved and an address to the place that was going to be my new home. The place was pretty small, but not too dingy, and I met my first roommate." Mitch had to stop again, gazing into Scott's baby-blue eyes as a shudder ran down his spine.

"Mitch?" Scott's hands squeezed his again, "You okay?"

"Fine," Mitch closed his eyes for a moment. Fighting against the taste of bile on the back of his tongue, he glanced up at Scott pleadingly. "Please Scott," his voice was half a whisper, "You don't need to hear my sob-story. So I grew up with a father who drank too much and got too angry, but that doesn't make me special. Thousands of other people have had to deal with the same shit… I'm not looking for pity."

Scott's eyes narrowed. "Mitch," he said seriously, "That stuff that your father said to you, the way he treated you, it's not okay, and you shouldn't try to brush it off. Trust me," his thumb brushed the back of Mitch's hand soothingly, "You don't need to feel ashamed of yourself for the way he acted, and it's alright to be upset about it. Just because, unfortunately, other people may have had similar experiences doesn't mean it's okay."

Mitch shrugged, surprised by Scott's sincerity. "Thanks. Uh, where was I?" he asked lightly, knowing full well where he had stopped.

"You're first roommate?" Scott prompted, and Mitch cursed his attentiveness internally.

"Right," he sighed, "That." He pushed his hair out of his eyes, concentrating on keeping his face neutral. "His name was Caine," he started, and his voice quivered on his name.

' _So much for neutrality.'_ Mitch wanted to kick himself. He cleared his throat for the hundredth time and continued. "He was a few years older than me, 22 or 23, and I had a crush on him from the moment I met him." Mitch paused to glance at Scott, who took a slow breath, but kept his face blank.

"I thought he was so cool, y'know, tall, dark, and all that," Mitch chuckled bitterly. "He was a huge partier, he drank and smoked and had so many friends. Well, I began to realize that most of these 'friends' of his were always giving him rather large sums of money, and in return, he'd slip them an unmarked bottle of pills. I was young, but I wasn't stupid. I knew what was going on, but I didn't say anything because I was afraid he'd get mad at me. Slowly, as the months passed, he started letting me go out partying with him, and it was electrifying. He helped me pick out clothes and would parade me around at different clubs, showing me off to his friends."

Mitch paused, fiddling with his hair again absent-mindedly. "And, eventually, although I'm not proud of it, I began helping Caine with his 'exchanges'. I'd take their money and hand them a bottle, no questions asked, then I'd bring the money to Caine. I knew it was wrong, but it was so fun being around him, and I got caught up in it all. Pretty soon I was drinking and smoking just as hard as he was, and I'd considered asking him to try a pill more than once. I still had a terrible crush on him, and I thought that if I acted like him, he'd like me back. One night, however, that all changed." Scott reached up when Mitch started to tug at his hair again, stopping him gently. He intertwined their fingers, and Mitch forced himself to continue.

"We were clubbing. We'd gone from place to place for hours, Caine drank more than I'd ever seen, and I thought I saw him sneaking some of those pills as well. I had had far too much as well, and I don't remember how we got home, but somehow I guess we did. I remember we sat on the couch cuz Caine wanted to watch TV or something, and we started wrestling. He was tickling me, and trying to pin me down, and I was laughing and fighting back as best as I could. Then suddenly he was kissing me. It was messy and rushed and far too rough, but I'd wanted him to do it for so long that I let him. He began taking off my shirt and I panicked and tried to stop him, but he told me that he was disappointed. He said that he thought I was fun, not a stick in the mud. I insisted that I was fun, and he dared me to prove it. I didn't want to upset him, a-and I was so drunk, I-" Mitch's words became interrupted by hiccups as he started crying. Scott hugged him to his chest, trying to soothe him.

Despite Scott's efforts, Mitch found himself only crying harder, his face growing hot with embarrassment.

"S-Scott, I'm s-sorry," he managed, " I don't know w-why I'm-I'm-"

"Shh, it's okay," Scott rubbed his back, " It's okay Mitchie."

After a few long minutes, Mitch calmed, taking deep shuddering breath and wiped at his eyes.

"Are you okay?" Scott hovered worriedly as Mitch struggled to control himself.

"Yeah, I'm fine. I just need a second," Mitch dried his eyes with his shirtsleeve, sucking air in deeply.

"Caine," Scott said, his voice dangerously calm, "Did he- I mean, did you two-"

Mitch looked up into his eyes, taking in his pained expression helplessly.

' _Might as well just say it. It's not like he can think much less of me anyways,'_ He decided.

"Yes Scott. I slept with him." Mitch stared past Scott at the window, shaking his head. "But it was all wrong. He had been drinking and smoking and god knows what else, and it was too fast and it hurt and-" Mitch sighed, "and it was my first time."

Scott's mouth hung open as he tried to manage a coherent sentence. Mitch bit his lip and looked away again, terrified of how Scott would react.

"I told you, I don't deserve someone like you Scott," Mitch said quietly. He jumped when Scott seized his shoulders, shaking his head furiously.

"No, no that wasn't your fault; none of the shit that's happened to you is your fault. Bad stuff happening to you doesn't mean you don't deserve to be happy. Sure, everyone makes mistakes, but Caine, he pressured you, practically forced you, and that was NOT your fault."

Mitch shook his head. "He didn't rape me, Scott. I wanted him, and helped him deal his drugs and all that shit. I'm a bad person Scott, why don't you understand that?"

His hands gripped Mitch's shoulders tighter. "No you're not. Caine manipulated you, and he used you to do whatever he wanted."

"I could've refused-" Mitch muttered, but Scott shook his head again.

"He probably would've forced you if you had," He said sadly. "God Mitch, I wish I could've been there. I wish I could've done something."

That caused Mitch to chuckle softly. "That's sweet of you Scott, but if you had known me back then, you probably wouldn't have wanted to."

"Everyone fucks up Mitch, you've got to stop blaming yourself for all of this," Scott's warm hands ran softly down Mitch's arms. "Your father and Caine wanted to blame you for how they acted, but they're the ones who screwed up, not you. Your father was a drunk who was looking for someone he could take his anger out on, and Caine was an asshole who manipulated you into giving him what he wanted."

"What he wanted?" Mitch ground his jaw angrily. "If he wanted it, then why was I tossed out on my ass Scott?" He balled his hands into fists, angry tears burning behind his eyes. "The next morning, Caine freaked out. He was furious. He called me a tramp and a slut and said that I took advantage of him. Me!" Mitch scoffed, trying desperately to hide behind his anger. Scott, however, saw right through him as always.

"Mitch," his voice softened, practically dripping with sympathy. "I can't believe… How could he do something like that?"

Mitch glanced into Scott's sad, innocent eyes and lost it, tears surfacing anew. This time he cried softly, and his eyes flew open when he felt Scott planting kisses along his cheeks, dipping down to brush his jaw and sweeping back up his cheekbones. His kisses were as light as butterfly wings, fluttering innocently against Mitch's skin. The simple gesture made him cry harder, and, trembling, he rested his head heavily in the nape of Scott's neck.

[Scott's PoV]

His heart ached for Mitch, and he was finally beginning to understand. Mitch's fear of connecting to others, his constant partying, his destructive behavior, it was all caused by the pain he had suffered growing up. His father didn't accept him, and he is afraid of having feeling for anyone because of Caine's rejection. And somehow he blames himself. Mitch didn't think he deserved to be happy, and Scott realized he might be the only person Mitch has ever told all of this to. Another knife sliced through his heart and he hugged Mitch tighter, letting himself nuzzle into his hair.

Mitch sighed shakily, his breath beginning to steady itself. When his shaking subsided, Scott began to pull away awkwardly. However, Mitch stopped him, his fingers clawing at Scott's arms frantically.

"No!" his voice squeaked, "Don't… Just, hold me. Please." Scott obliged gladly, struggling to maintain his composure. After months of back-and-forth treatment from Mitch, he never would have imagined they'd end up like this. Another part of him felt terrible for Mitch; he seemed so exhausted, as if re-telling his past had been physically draining on him.

"Scott," Mitch sighed, "Why are you still here? Why do you put up with… all of this?"

To him the answer was simple; he couldn't believe that Mitch still didn't understand.

"I love you Mitch," he murmured, 'And that means I don't mind putting up with things. It means I'm here for you, no matter what, because I can't bear to see you in pain. It means I'll do whatever you ask, even if I know you don't feel the same."

Scott glanced down as he felt Mitch leaning back, his round, dark eyes piercing his own. Then, suddenly, Mitch wound his slender fingers up around Scott's neck, and dragged his mouth down to meet his.

Scott was so surprised he froze, until the rhythmic sensation of Mitch's lips dancing against his own urged him into motion. Carefully, so carefully, he wrapped his arms around Mitch's much smaller body, kissing him back softly. He felt Mitch crying, and it took everything he had not to cry too. Kissing Mitch made him feel like they were in their own world, and time hung still around them as they embraced. Finally, Mitch drew back just enough to wipe his eyes, and he stared down, avoiding Scott's gaze.

"Scott I-" He gulped, taking a breath slowly, "I love you."

Scott felt as if he were made of glass. He held perfectly still, his mind racing at a thousand miles an hour. He had heard those words a dozen different times, but this was different. It wasn't a drunken babble whispered across a pillowcase, it felt genuine, and Scott didn't know how to react.

Mitch tilted his head up, his eyes overfilling with worry.

"Scott?" he said again, so softly. He opened his mouth to say something else, but he never got the chance.

Scott surged forwards and connected their mouths in a frantic rush of passion. Mitch's hands reached up to cup his face as Scott's circled his body again. This kiss was completely unlike their first, it was fast and messy and perfect. This time, Scott was the one crying, tears flowing down his cheeks uncontrollably. When he stopped, gasping and hiccupping, Mitch's hands stroked his face. Scott could hardly hear his calming words over the sound of his sobs.

"Scott, it's okay," Mitch leaned in to peer up into Scott's face. "I mean it; I love you so, so much. I didn't think I'd let myself admit it, I really don't deserve you Scott, but you're always there for me, and I love you." Scott covered his face, his shoulders shaking. He felt the feather-light touch of Mitch's fingers trailing across his chest, and when he moved his hands, Mitch's lips pressed into his again, gentle yet insistent.

"I, fuck, I love you Mitch," Scott blubbered, dabbing at his eyes as Mitch sat back and let out a sigh.

"You said that you were sick of this," Mitch cleared his voice determinedly; "Well I'm fucking sick of it too. I'm sick of running from my past. All my life, I've been running from shit, and I'm sick of it all." His voice wavered, "But I don't know how to fix it. I can't deal with it all on my own, I know that now, and I was thinking, since I met you, I've finally found something to run towards. Scott," he breathed, his face caught somewhere between laughing and crying, 'if you'll let me, I want to spend the rest of my life running to you, instead of running away. You're the best person I've ever known, and I love you Scott."

Scott pulled him into another kiss, swallowing his words. The kiss was sloppy and interrupted by hiccups and sniffling, but it was raw and real, and Scott never wanted it to end.

He pulled back, however, clutching Mitch's face desperately. "I'll always be here for you Mitch, I'm never gonna break my promise. I want to be by your side every day for the rest of your life, because I'm running to you too Mitchie," he brushed a stray tear off of Mitch's cheek, "I wanna be here to help you get through the bad times and to celebrate the good ones. I want to be able to remind you every day how beautiful and strong and amazing you are, and I know we can get through this, cause I'm in love with you."

"Damn I suck at words," Mitch sighed, flinging his arms around Scott's neck and burying his face into his muscled shoulder, "I love you so much Scott."

Scott pressed kisses onto his neck and in his hair, rubbing Mitch's back lightly. He meant ever word. Yes, they still had a long way to go, but he wasn't worried. As long as he and Mitch were together, he could take on any obstacle.

Because he was running to Mitch, and he was never going to stop.


End file.
